RAW TO THE CORE…
In the Harris household, everyone rather happily did their own thing.
Dad, Simon Harris, had a wife, Barbara, but that didn’t stop him from keeping the affections of various other womenhis mistress collection was almost as extensive as his tool collection. Mum, Barbara, had her suspicions about Simons working late routine, but she was hardly a saint herself. She found a fair bit of excitement in the company of her married coworker from the office. As for their two boys, they were left with about as much guidance as a satnav with no signal.
Parenting wasnt high on the family agenda. If the boys were out wandering the estate or swapping dubious anecdotes behind the bike sheds, then their mums attitude was that school ought to sort out their bodies *and* souls. After all, isnt that what she paid her taxes for?
The whole clan only ever sat down together at the kitchen table on Sundaysand even then, lunch was inhaled in silence, with everyone glancing at the clock, keen to scarper back to their solitary pursuits.
And so, the family bobbed along in their blissfully dysfunctional and slightly seedy worlduntil, predictably, disaster struck.
When their youngest, Daniel, was twelve, Simon decided, for the first time, to drag his son along to the garage, under the guise of helping out. As Daniel pottered about among the spanners and mystery containers, Simon nipped outside to join his mates, who were fussing over the battered relics they called cars.
Suddenly, billows of thick, black smoke curled out of Simons lock-up, followed by flickering tongues of flame. No one knew what had happened. (Later, it would emerge that Daniel had unwittingly knocked over a switched-on blowtorch, right onto a jerry can of petrol.) For a moment, the blokes stood rooted, frozen. But then panic set inthe flames were hungrily devouring everything. Someone doused Simon with a bucket of water and he dashed back into the inferno. Everyone held their breath. Seconds later, Simon staggered out, cradling his unconscious son, barely recognisable. Daniels body was charred, his clothes incinerated. Only his face was untouched, as though hed sheltered it with his hands.
While someone rang the fire brigade and an ambulance, Daniel was whisked off to hospital. Miraculously, he was alive. The surgeons worked frantically for hours. Eventually, a doctor addressed Simon and Barbara. His voice was clipped, matter-of-fact:
Were doing what we can. At the moment, your son is in a coma. Statistically, his chances are one in a million. Medically speaking, theres not much more we can do. But if he has a madly stubborn will to live, you might get your miracle. Hold yourselves together.
Without pausing, Simon and Barbara dashed through a relentless downpour to the nearby churchlooking for any intervention, divine or otherwise.
Soaked to the skin, they entered a church for possibly the first time in years, resembling nothing so much as bedraggled stray cats. Spotting the vicar, they approached him shyly.
Vicarour sons dying what should we do? Barbara managed between sobs.
He introduced himself as Father George. Funny how people remember God only in emergencies. Well then, have you sinned much?
Not especially. Havent killed anyone, mumbled Simon, suddenly fascinated by his shoes.
But you seem to have murdered your own love. Its lying there, stone dead, trampled underfoot. Husband and wife should be inseparableright now I reckon you could land an oak beam between you two and not hit a spark! Ah, humanity…
Pray for your sons healthSaint Nicholas is your man. Pray like youve never prayed before. Mind, remember, its all on the Lords timetable. Dont grumble. Sometimes Gods wake-up call is very loudyou wouldnt notice otherwise. Youll lose your soul and never even clock it. Change your ways! Love redeems everything.
Simon and Barbara stood there, limp and weepy, listening as Father George gave them the home truths theyd so neatly swept under the carpet. He pointed to the icon of Saint Nicholas.
They knelt in front of the icon, praying, weeping, making grand promises. Adultery was off the cardsaffairs banished and heartily regretted. They dissected their lives, letter by letter, thread by thread
The next morning, the doctor phoned: Daniel had come out of his coma.
Simon and Barbara were at his bedside in a flash. As Daniel opened his eyes and attempted a weak, lopsided smile, it was clear hed aged emotionally by a decade.
Mum, Dad please, promise meyou wont split up, he whispered hoarsely.
Oh Daniel, whatever makes you think that? Were together, Barbara replied, gently touching her sons hot, limp hand. Daniel winced in pain.
I saw it, Mum. And my children will have your names, Daniel insisted, drifting.
The parents exchanged anxious glances, assuming he was delirious. Grandchildren? The poor lad could barely wiggle a toe. The main thing was to get him back on his feetand quickly.
From that moment, Daniel rallied. Every penny Simon and Barbara had went into his recoverythey even sold their little holiday cottage in Devon. Pity the garage and the car went up in flames, otherwise they might have flogged those too for Daniels sake. But at least he was alive! relatives rallied round with casseroles, cash, and endless sympathy.
Tragedy, like nothing else, pulled the Harris clan together.
Even the longest, messiest day has to end.
A year later, Daniel was up and about at a rehab centre. He could walk, dress himself, do all those little things we take for granted. There, Daniel formed a fast friendship with a girl called Maisie. She, too, was twelve, and she, too, had survived a fireonly her face had suffered burns.
Maisie, after a handful of operations, had become bashful about her reflection. She avoided mirrors as if they might bite. But Daniel was drawn to her warmth, her quiet resilience, and vulnerabilitya rare friendship blossomed between them. They spent every minute together, bonded by the sort of pain and hope only burn survivors know: the endless injections, rumbling dread of the next operation, and the strange camaraderie of hospital corridors.
One thing led to another. Daniel and Maisie, now a little older and wiser than their years, kept in toucha friendship that slowly ripened. They eventually married, with a modest registry office bash that would have embarrassed a sitcom family, but made everyone deeply, drippily happy.
Their first child was a bright-eyed daughter named Alice; three years later, a son, James, arrived to complete the picture.
When calm (finally!) settled over the extended Harris family, Simon and Barbara realised something dreadful: after all that drama, they simply couldnt stand each other. They had been squeezed so dry by Daniels ordeal that there was nothing left to give, not even a decent squabble.
Barbara moved to her sisters place out in Kent. Before she left, she popped into the local church, hoping to see Father George for a blessing. Shed made a habit of visiting him, always thanking him for his part in her sons rescue. Father George would correct her:
Thank God, Barbara. I just relay the message.
Father George wasnt keen on her departure. But if its too much for you, go. Sometimes its good for the soul to be alone for a bit. But rememberhusband and wife are one thing! Dont lose that.
Simon stayed in the now-silent flat, the sons and their families living miles away. The exes even planned their grandchild-visiting so precisely theyd never cross in the hallway.
And soit must be saideveryone was finally… comfortable.
